Dear readers, I cannot begin to describe the thrilling rush that builds within me when I realize I am about to view a film in which a group of vacationing youngsters are picked off one by one. At the first hint of collegiate individuals bound for merriment and murder, a tingling sensation builds at he base of my neck, the tips of my fingers tremble visibly and a gurgle of pleasure escapes from the back of my throat. Much to my delight, this is the setup proposed by 2001 Maniacs. Admittedly this scenario does differ from Two Thousand Maniacs! (1964) and while I would stop short of saying it improves upon the formula of the original, I will say that few of filmmaker’s decisions do any injustice to their source of inspiration.

In this particular case, the doomed little sprouts are a trio of “bros” destined for Florida, their minds writhing with the romantic possibilities of Daytona Beach. Their plans are forestalled by a mystical detour that leads them, along with another young trio and a pair of motorcycle enthusiasts, into Pleasant Valley, a small southern town where the aggressive hospitality should be enough to scare off most travelers. The residents of this quaint community are preparing for an annual jamboree and they are more than happy to welcome passing strangers into their reverie. Unbeknownst to these hapless tourists, Pleasant Valley fosters a secret cannibal culture that seems to mostly eat heads, which admittedly does provide a certain dramatic flair when the dinner bell is rung. 

Though I cannot bring myself to fully endorse people eating, the roster of potential victims do seem to suffer from a lack of situational awareness that, while not an entirely satisfying justification for murder and cannibalism, does seem to warrant some kind of consequence. These less-than-inquisitive minds ask no questions when asked to hurl spikes at hair-draped hunks of meat and munch blissfully away on a unicorn-tattooed flank of flesh that recognizably belonged to one of their companions. Had the residents of Pleasant Valley not intervened, they may have just as likely been taken by any other brand of misfortune. 

The early 2000s were absolutely littered with horror remakes and while many of them generate their own sort of merit, few of them managed to revive the punchy thrills of their predecessors. 2001 Maniacs stands apart from these other offerings. This is not some squeamish retread made to lure in the PG-13 crowd, no! It is spotted with novel torture schemes and splashed with appropriate streaks of red. Eli Roth serves as an executive producer and his fondness for fraternity tales and extreme violence are both on display. Robert Englund presides over the town in as boisterous a manner as one might find outside of Elm Street and counts among his fellow townspeople genre darlings Lin Shaye and Kane Hodder. It is all a rather good time and it does little disservice to the Godfather of Gore. 

There is one critical way in which writer and director Tim Sullivan has not quite conjured the spirit of the original. Herschell Gordon Lewis, the dear man, was more sympathetic towards his murderous cannibals. For the most part, our new cast of victims openly patronize their affable Virginian hosts and the heaping supply of incest and bestiality bits suggest that their distaste is meant to be shared by the audience. Despite this touch of Yankee bias, 2001 Maniacs still manages to recreate the gory, homespun feel of the original without feeling like a facsimile.

2001 Maniacs runs 87 minutes and is rated R for strong horror violence and gruesome images, sexuality, nudity and language.